


ndrv3 drabbles and requests <3!!

by kichiouma



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: (one of the stories doesn't specify which so you can decide), Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Angst, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, New Dangan Ronpa V3 Spoilers, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Game(s), Pre-Game Personalities (New Dangan Ronpa V3), Requests, lets be honest here this is mostly oumami
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:47:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22548802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kichiouma/pseuds/kichiouma
Summary: Self explanatory title!•°requests°• ▪︎ open [  ] ▪︎ closed [◉] ▪︎
Relationships: Amami Rantaro/Oma Kokichi, Amami Rantarou/Ouma Kokichi
Comments: 13
Kudos: 51





	1. Oumami // Slow Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> •°☆°•
> 
> word count ▪︎ 847 ▪︎
> 
> just something soft and low energy to try and get me out of a writing block!
> 
> content: non-despair / post-game, domestic morning life, fluff
> 
> •°☆°•

Kokichi shivered as a smooth gust of wind chilled his skin, the window whistling quietly with the rush of air. He cracked his eyes open, peering over at the curtains in annoyance, which flowed lazily in the breeze. It had been closed earlier, he remembered, but judging by the lack of warmth next to his person, that was because he was the last one to get up. Of course he was, especially with how much he, rather childishly, refused to go to bed early.

He propped his feet up closer to himself so that his knees sat in the air and pushed so that he was upright against the pillows. His head hung back just a touch to rest against the headboard as a groan passed through his throat. The window was on the other side of the room and there didn't ever seem to be enough energy in him upon waking up to actually move around much. His eyes fell shut again while he sulked over the open pane and darted his feet back underneath the covers to get whatever heat he could find. It wasn't much, since the comforter wasn't out yet to compensate for the chilling weather, but it was something.

Kokichi almost slipped back into a shallow nap until he heard the door scratch up against the frame where it didn't quite fit right. He didn't bother lifting his head as he glanced over, smiling up at his husband who had tried his best to be quiet upon entering. "I see you, y'know," he yawned in as smug of a tone as a yawn could carry.

Rantarou hummed quietly in acknowledgement, pushing the door the rest of the way open with his foot. His hands were occupied with something that was just outside of Kokichi's range of vision from where his head was turned upward. He could make a pretty good guess, though.

His question was confirmed when Rantarou closed to short distance between the entrance to their bed, setting down a wooden slate that they often used to hold their food when they ate away from a table. He finally picked his head back up to look down at what he had made, just seeing their usual breakfast setup. Not that he minded, of course, he loved anything that Rantarou cooked.

Kokichi picked up the small glass of water set carefully on the corner of the tray as the other climbed over his legs and settled in by his side. His arm tucked under and around Kokichi's waist as he scooted the wood to sit on both of their legs. He was also noticeably tired, but of course he always managed to be productive despite that, somehow.

They sat quietly, picking at their food slowly and warming up beside each other until Rantarou leaned his head over onto Kokichi's. Following the hum of contentment he got in return, he mumbled, "I love you."

Kokichi couldn't help but giggle airily, poking into the yolk he had left untouched for some time now. "Where's this coming from?"

Rantarou offered a small shrug, or at least as much of a shrug as he could get in his position, and closed his eyes. "No where. I just do," he said. He sat his bowl back down, having finished before the other, as he often did. Now having his hand freed, he reached up to idley run his fingers through Kokichi's hair, gently untangling any knots he ran into along the way.

"Of course my beloved Amami loves me!" Kokichi boasted proudly. "He always has and always will, I know it. I don't need the reminders." But, reminders were nice, and both of them knew that it was silently appreciated despite whatever he said in the moment.

Rantarou chuckled softly, leaning himself over to kiss him before he got another bite of his breakfast up to his mouth. Kokichi's hand fell back to the bowl slowly, dropping his chopsticks in with a faint clink. He moved to take Rantarou's free hand into his own, returning the gesture for just a moment before they parted. Kokichi loved when they kissed. It was always nice, occasionally gentle; one of the few constants in his life that he adored.

Before Kokichi had the chance to ask about his affection again, he felt the ring on his finger swivel slightly in between the other's grip. "Rantarou. It's Rantarou, Kichi baby."

Kokichi stared up at him for a moment before he let out a huff, his face warming up against his own wishes. "Right, whatever."

Rantarou reached to pull the blanket up over their legs a bit more, and allowed his husband to lean against him as he finished eating. With the last sip of his water, Kokichi tilted his face up for another kiss. Rantarou gladly leaned in, only to recoil when water was spit onto his face, followed by smug, happy laughter. He wiped his sleeve over his cheeks, shaking his head in amusement as he got his actual kiss the second time around. Kokichi beamed up at him.

"I love you!"


	2. Saihara & Ouma // No fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> •°☆°•
> 
> word count ▪︎ 421 ▪︎
> 
> I wrote this a few months ago but never got around to posting it woops
> 
> content: alternate interaction after Chapter 4's trial, angst
> 
> •°☆°•

“You’re alone, Ouma. And you always will be.”

The wide grin on his face refused to falter, but the faint tremble in his throat was noticeable enough to catch Saihara’s attention. _What is with him?_ He couldn’t help but wonder, brows knitting up tightly. _Does he really think that now of all times crocodile tears will help anything?_

Ouma’s hands eventually fell from behind his head, instead moving swiftly to clasp behind his back. His torso tilted this way and that as he closed his eyes, almost thoughtfully if one were being seriously generous. “Alone,” he reiterated to himself, lips barely moving. The air was thick with tension as everyone stared him down, unsure of what to expect from him anymore; unsure of who he was anymore. As his eyes snapped back open Yumeno visibly flinched. “Of course, it’s only natural isn’t it?”

He paused, taking slow steps towards the elevator, his toes tapping down pointedly while the few bodies left in the courtroom parted to carve his path. No one wanted to be remotely near him. His thumb gently brushed across the rest of his fingers restlessly, almost in an opposite fashion to his walking, as he reached the gate of the lift. It felt as if no one was breathing as he pivoted on the ball of his foot.

As his face came back into view, his eyes were crinkled up in faux delight while the corners of his lips curled so far up that they sunk into his cheeks and out of sight- a fairly difficult task for someone as thin as he was. “After all, isn’t it inevitable for dictators to be overthrown?” he continued finally with a faint lilt at the end, just as he always did. 

God, why did it always have to sound like that.

Saihara stared at him, eyes just a tad out of focus as he analyzed what he was hearing and barely being able to focus on his body language anymore. _Was any of it ever real?_ “Ouma-”

“I know when I’m not invited to the party, _Shuuichi_. I’ll take my leave, hm?” His face was just as bright as before, but his tone fell utterly flat as he addressed the detective. Ouma stepped backwards onto the platform without much mind for the gap between it and the floor, and as the doors shut in front of his face all remnants of his prior pleasure gave in to a neutral slate.

“What’s a party with a downer there, anyway.”


	3. Oumami // Heading home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> •°☆°•
> 
> word count ▪︎ 348 ▪︎
> 
> I was prompted to write a romantic scene for these two on my tumblr!
> 
> content: non-despair / post-game Oumami, fluff
> 
> •°☆°•

“Are you almost home yet?”

Amami sighed into the speaker of his earbuds, leaning up against the shaky wall of the train. “I told you already, it’s gonna be another hour or so.” He made sure to speak quietly, not wanting to disturb the other on board, as it was extremely early in the morning. He was honestly surprised that Ouma was still up to wait for him, seeing as he usually went to sleep at two am at the latest. It was a sweet gesture, especially since this had been one of his longer trips, even with his persistent questions that he was fully aware were just to be annoying. He really had to start bringing his boyfriend along so that they wouldn’t have to spend so long apart.

He was pulled out of his train of thought by a soft yawn on the other end of the call, smiling to himself. “Why don’t you just take a nap until I’m back? I’d be there a lot sooner if you fell asleep, y’know.”

Ouma could be heard sitting up from his spot under the blankets in defiance, his voice coming out about as snippy as his tired state would allow. “No way! I spent enough nights sleeping all alone and you want me to do it _again_ when I don’t need to?” he whined. “Why don’t you just get here faster? Problem solved!”

“Unfortunately I’m not the conductor, ‘Kichi. Can’t do anything about how fast it’s going,” he noted, humouring Ouma’s antics. He received an annoyed groan in response, followed by the shuffling of sheets as the other settled back into their bed. “Come on, not that much longer and we can get snuggled up under the blankets together again. You can be patient, can’t you?”

“And what if I can’t? I miss youuu.”

He chuckled softly, cheeks warming in adoration. “I miss you too. Trust me, this time will be worth it.”

“It better be,” Ouma huffed. 

Amami looked down at the dark, velvety box that he held in his hands delicately. “It is, I promise.”


	4. Oumami // Missing piece

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> •°☆°•
> 
> word count ▪︎ 1,721 ▪︎
> 
> Part of my Oumami week on tumblr!  
> Day 2: Soulmates / ~~Talentswap~~
> 
> content: monochromatic soulmates, chapters 1 - 4 spoilers, chapter 5 hinted at, hurt no comfort
> 
> •°☆°•

There was something missing, still. He had remembered so much since the game had begun, and yet he was still stumped as to why he felt like a chunk of his own heart was missing. They had used countless flashback lights by now, had so many discussions about their memories, and yet nothing was coming back to him. Ouma began to wonder if that was just how he was. If he had always felt this empty; this lonely. Perhaps he was just hyping himself up for a memory that would never come, so he had began crushing down his hopes not long after the first trial.

Trials. Iruma's trial was just minutes away, he was sure. They had been investigating for what seemed like days now, so it had to be, at least. As he followed Saihara around aimlessly, pointing out obvious clues but asking ridiculous questions about them, Ouma felt a pit in his stomach. He didn't want another execution, another corpse, another body needlessly tossed away like some scrapped wrapper. This whole game was disgusting, and he felt even worse to have basically dealt into the hand of the mastermind by asking Gokuhara to help him. Gokuhara is nearly an adult, so this was his choice. He chose to go through with this, he chose to kill. Or, at least, that's how he justified it in his head, but no matter the excuses he made for himself, he still felt completely and utterly guilty.

With the sickening chime of the announcement bell, Ouma stopped walking, watching as Saihara jolted uncomfortably. Of course he would be uncomfortable, each and every trial was basically laid out for him to carry on his own, aside from Ouma's occasional hidden aide. He suddenly wondered if Saihara ever felt guilty. 

The walk to the court room was filled with the usual hopeless chatter. "We'll make it out this time!" or "I'm sure this was justified…" and anything of the sort rung in his ears as his peers spoke around him. He narrowed his eyes at the elevator door as it slid shut, watching it buckle and shake as the carriage began its descent. He didn't want to do this.

It was only a matter of time until they came to the conclusion that Gokuhara was the culprit. Of course they did, no one would ever get away with murder as long as they had a detective in their ranks. He was practically fuming at how Gokuhara didn't seem to remember anything until his avatar self was provided. He was less so angry at the boy himself, but rather that even in his final moments he had to be so innocent. He committed murder- Ouma should detest him- and yet he was innocent. No, it wasn't even murder. It was protection. No one who defended the weak deserved to be punished, and yet Gokuhara was, right in front of everyone's regretful eyes. 

The somber grimace he wore during the execution just wasn't fitting for the character he played, thus it was quickly thrown aside for a calm grin. The others glared with disbelief at his continued "enjoyment" of this twisted excuse for a game.

He was hardly retaining any of the argument that they were having with him. It was his fault, he already knew that, he didn't need to be reminded of it. He was a disgusting freak of a person. He was guilty. And yet here he stood, alive and well with a chasm for a heart. None of the words thrown his way were really sticking, at least, not until Saihara near growled at him.

"You're alone, Ouma. And you always will be."

Alone.

And so he remembered.

A soft breeze tussled Ouma's short, loose hair effortlessly. It knocked some of the sand from his head, but not much. He didn't mind, though. The sand beneath his feet was warm and welcoming after all, so he was much too distracted by the little pit he had dug to sit in to notice the bits on his scalp. His young eyes peered out at the ocean with endless curiosity, his fingers poking holes into the sand as he admired the horizon.

Ouma hit the ground with a thud, the skin on his palms scratching up as he braced himself. He sat up and ran his fingertips over the gravel left on his skin, wiping it away as he glanced above himself to the monkey bars he had fallen from. His grip was never strong enough to stay on past the second bar, but that was fine. His eyes fell back to his palms, watching as small bubbles of blood formed in a few deeper scratches. He stared momentarily before closing his hands and standing back up, running off to go clean them off. 

Waking up in a locker, Ouma reeled, hitting his head. He was tired and confused, and as the door clicked open without him doing so that was only boosted. He stumbled out, just barely catching himself on a desk before he tripped over his own feet. The boy opposite to him, who had made it to the ground with a sharp clanging noise, was peculiar enough to catch his attention, but after their interaction with some other students he left to go meet the others on his own. Ouma watched him leave the classroom without a word, his hands clasped behind his neck. He was about to go out and leave as well before a taller student caught the door and peered inside. He smiled upon seeing Ouma, walking in and letting the door slide closed.

Rantarou Amami. He was an interesting character, for sure. They certainly weren't good friends at first, but as time passed and they took more time to investigate as a pair, they at least were talking casually. 

They were sitting in Amami's room as per usual, since Ouma more than often picked his lock instead of inviting him to talk normally. Their conversation had been focused on the mastermind, but after a while they found themselves focused on each other. It wasn't uncommon, and somehow Ouma didn't hate it. It was comfortable to have someone there for once.

"...or am I wrong, Ouma?" 

He looked up at the mention of his name, cracking his knuckles absentmindedly. "What?"

Amami laughed warmly, shaking his head. "I guess you weren't listening to me. Ah well, wasn't anything important."

Ouma smiled cheekily, sitting up on his knees to slap his shoulder. "Nothing ever is with you!" he whined. "Amami is so secretive…"

"And you're not?" he teased, reaching up to knock Ouma's hand out of the way. As the back of his hand touched to the other boy's fingers, they were both blasted with a whirlpool of… something. The room around them was suddenly a cooler tone than before, the highlights against some of the wood now a bright, warm hue. Ouma's eyes were wide as he stared around the room, only to land on the other before him. He looked… so vibrant. Amami was staring at him with the same bewildered look on his face, but neither of them spoke. This was new territory for both of them, and neither of them knew what was going on in the slightest.

He realized then that all of the memories he could recall of his childhood, albeit not many at all, were unmistakably bland. They were grey scale scenes. The only way he could decipher the ocean from the sand and the blood from his skin being the contrast in tones, and he had been foolish enough to think it beautiful. But this- Amami's desaturated dyed hair, his eyes which were now much brighter than before, his warm skin- it was so much better.

Ouma remembered yet another scene. He kicked his legs impatiently on his chair as his teacher finally got up from her desk to talk to him. They had been reading a book in class, and the plot was just horribly confusing to him. Why were the characters talking about colours? What in the world were colours? She kept him after class when he had brought it up, which he thought to be simultaneously really annoying and pretty weird. 

He didn't believe it, at first. Soulmates were a ridiculous concept, and how had he only just been hearing about it in his first year of high school? But with a bit of consideration, he could recall it being a constant discussion throughout his life that he just always assumed was something he didn't know- a show, a book, or something. Having a soulmate sounded… nice. He smiled at the thought, leaving the classroom without another word. 

The aching hole in his heart and the never ending feeling of loneliness only worsened as they suddenly made sense.

Ouma stood before the remaining students of the killing game with wide eyes, tears threatening to build at his waterline before he blinked them back. He made quick work of getting himself out of the trial room before absolutely breaking down on the elevator ride up. How could he have forgotten that he had a soulmate? How, and why, just when he managed to meet him did he forget that? 

As soon as he made it back to his dorm, he locked the door as tightly as possible, and sat at the desk by his wall. He held his head in his hands and clutched his hair tightly, eyes fixed to the grey scale wood under his elbows. It was gone as fast as it had appeared. Just a moment of beauty in all of his life, snuffed out carelessly like an old candle who's wick finally burned out. Hearing the few footsteps in the hall finally die out as the last of the others made it to their respective rooms, Ouma sat up. 

His hands were a light shade of grey as well, just as everything else was, even the binded pages that he grabbed which he remembered to be red- not that he knew the name of the colour. He only allowed himself a few hours of sleep during the mornings of the next few days. He didn't want to waste too much of the time that he could spend working. This script had to be perfect, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> •°☆°•
> 
> me? reusing Saihara's sad line again because it's got a lot of potential for stories? ahahaha never
> 
> •°☆°•


	5. Oumami // I missed you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> •°☆°•
> 
> word count ▪︎ 2,281 ▪︎
> 
> Another Oumami week oneshot! kgfjdhjgs please ignore how messy the ending is, I know it's off  
> Day 4: "I love you" / "I'm sorry" / "I missed you"
> 
> content: spoilers for chapters 1 - 5, survivor au, death, afterlife, hurt/comfort, fluff
> 
> •°☆°•

Ouma shivered as he laid against cold, hard metal, the only forgiving warmth being the rapidly fading body heat that had been left in the jacket beneath him. The metal was winning, though, and it didn't last long. Goosebumps raised all over his body as a chill rolled through him, and he groaned pathetically. Despite how cold he was, however, there were sweat beads dotting his forehead as he stared up at the looming shadow of the press. At least it would be quick once it touched him.

"...Are you sure about this?" Momota finally spoke up, ripping Ouma back down to reality. He turned his head to look at him, although he couldn't really see his face from where he was laying. Momota noticed this and knelt down next to him, gripping the corner of the base plate tightly. He was nervous too, it was obvious.

Ouma simply offered him a strained grin, nodding as much as he could. "Yup! Even if I wasn't, I would still die anyway. The poison is really starting to make itself known!" His voice was crackly and weak against his own will. He was an impressive actor, but when your body has organ failure on speed dial it's hard to exhibit your best skills.

Momota looked unimpressed with his answer, but even so he knew that he was right. He looked him up and down for a moment before sighing in defeat. "Damn it… You could've drank some of the antidote and saved both of us. But, I guess that's just not your style, huh?" Ouma peered at him with newfound interest until he finished the thought. "You could've just cooperated. I had no idea you were trying to help, you know? Then it- it wouldn't have come down to this. I don't want to kill you, but..."

"Cooperated, huh?" he echoed, turning his head so he was back to staring at the hydraulic press. He opened his mouth to make some remark, to comment on how it was a stupid idea, but nothing came out. He shut his jaw with a slight frown.

Momota sat on his heels silently, waiting for some kind of comment, but just stood up in defeat when he only got silence in return. He scratched his fingers against the hairs on the back of his neck anxiously and started for the control platform. The only sound left in the hangar was the buzzing hum of the press and the faint thudding of the exisals walking around in another part of the building. Ouma didn't like it. He was fully prepared to die- hell this was practically just assisted suicide- but being left alone to his rampant thoughts as he lay on his literal death bed was highly uncomfortable.   
It felt like an eternity before he heard Momota's feet stop moving. It was only a matter of seconds, then. He seemed to hesitate to give Ouma the heads up that he was going to do it already, and even when he spoke up he avoided it for just a moment longer. "Hey, I mean, at least you'll be able to see Amami again."

Ouma's eyes widened just a touch; so he had put two and two together after all. He reached up to his chest with a shaky hand, gripping the long pendant of the necklace he still wore. A saddened smile crossed his lips, but he didn't respond as the hum of the press kicked up a few decibels and descended toward him.

•°☆°•

The distant conversation that could be heard in the back of his head was annoying. It hurt, even, only worsening the aching in the back of his skull as it continued. But, that was the thing. Conversation, headache… was he alive? No, that couldn’t be right. He watched it happen, after all, there was no way he could have survived that. As his mind started to focus more and more he realized that he had woken up, as he could see light through his eyelids. Against his better judgement of how much it would hurt, he opened his eyes quickly, and of course had to blink rapidly to adjust.

Sitting up slowly, he looked around expecting to see… well he wasn’t quite sure, really. Clouds, maybe? Or, on the other side of the coin, perhaps an intense heat, but neither was the case. Instead he was promptly met with pure white cabinets and dully toned countertops surrounding him. And as his body moved, he could hear the ruffling of the sheets around him and a thin tube tugging gently at his wrist. Looking down towards the feeling, he immediately identified it as an IV tube, and noticed that he was in a hospital gown. Why was he in a hospital; and more importantly, how?  
The voices just outside of his room grew closer gradually until the door rattled on its tracks slightly before sliding open. He, just before the people behind it stepped inside, laid back down quietly, shutting his eyes and opening his mouth a tad to be more convincing. He wanted nothing more than an explanation, but equally as much, he didn’t want to worsen the pain in his skull by trying to talk to someone to get it. He could listen just fine.

“He’s just in here, sir,” said a bland, unnoteworthy voice which he presumed to be either a doctor or nurse. “I would suggest not waking him up on your own so that he doesn’t freak out upon realizing he’s alive, and I’m sure you understand basic visiting decency already so I’ll spare you the lecture.”

A few footsteps moved towards his bed, and under the blanket Ouma tightened his fist. 

“I’ll be careful with him, no need.”

Ouma struggled to keep his eyes closed upon hearing Amami speak. Surely this was some cruel personal hell for him to endure for the rest of eternity, after all he saw his corpse. He felt it, he swore he checked for his pulse. But, all of his pessimistic thoughts were thrown out of the window as he felt two warm, gentle hands take one of his own. It felt so real, so familiar. 

Amami was silent as he sat there, but even so Ouma focused so much more on listening to his breathing than the track of the door as it was closed once more. Ouma’s eyes squeezed shut even tighter, not wanting to face it. If he opened them, it felt as though Amami would fade away once more, so instead he gripped one of his hands loosely.

The fingers in his hold jolted along with the other boy’s whole body, and he was heard leaning closer towards him. “...Ouma? Are you up?” Of course he was, but he was just so scared. He wanted to live in this reality, in this Schrodinger-type mystery where Amami would always be alive. 

With a beat of continued silence, Amami released a sigh. “It’s alright, I don’t care. At least you’re even here,” he continued with a noticeably relieved, yet concerned, tone. There was a brief pause, maybe considering his options. Nothing was exactly stopping him from waking the other up considering the staff member had left the room by that point. But if he still thought that Ouma was truly sleeping, then he may want to let him continue to rest.

“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have been left alone to fight like that.”

Ouma, very hesitantly, cracked open his eyes. He once again had to adjust to the burning white LEDs that were overhead, but he didn’t care. One quick look to his right, his thoughts were proven wrong. Amami, sitting somewhat hunched over with his eyes closed, shoulders relaxed while his hands were still tense, was right there. Alive. “Don’t tell me Amami is really going to go and blame himself for this all?”

Amami gasped, snapping his eyes up to look at him. A smile immediately crossed his face, his previously somber body language melting into something more lively. “I should’ve known you were awake. I expect nothing less of you,” he chuckled giddily. Ouma found his smile to be contagious, and for the first time since his apparent death, he found himself doing so genuinely; comfortably. Shutting his eyes gently to keep a few tears of joy back, Ouma laughed.

•°☆°•

Something about growing old was oddly nice. Ouma never thought that he would ever want to grow up, but living alongside his friend, his lover, and later his husband completely flipped his ideals. Amami- or Rantarou, rather, once they were wed under the same name- was much more important than his silly childhood wishes, anyway. The countless nights where they laid awake, suffering the consequences of the killing game were really the only issue. But even then, the two of them were always there regardless of whatever horrid nightmare, thought, or memory came to one or the both of them. There was never a moment when they couldn’t be in touch, and it was lovely. 

Domestic, lazy days where they did nothing but sit in each others’ arms and sleep were easily his favourite to remember. He had a vivid memory of how Rantarou’s chest felt against him, the welcoming warmth spreading throughout his own body while the thudding of his heartbeat kept him grounded. It didn’t last forever, though. 

After some time, the two started to get a bit old for lounging all over each other, and it stopped. Kokichi watched as his husband tended to his needs, as once he reached 72 he could no longer even stand on his own. He always cursed his natural tendency to be weak, which only increased during that time. But Rantarou never minded, and they were happy.

And, after nearly 64 years of marriage, Kokichi was upset upon realizing that they had been separated. It was a gentle passing in his sleep, and neither of them were expecting anything different than normal. Rantarou left him with a careful kiss to his lips, with a soft squeeze of his hand and an exchange of “I love you,” they drifted off together. But once he woke up, he was staring off at a field, which he recognized to be their backyard. That was odd, he thought at first. He rarely visited the garden anymore, even if Rantarou did his best to keep it alive and well. The best he had was a view outside of their bedroom window, where the vines of wisteria creeped along the wooden panels that surrounded the glass and a few young apple trees struggled to blossom in their juvenile stages.   
He made no effort to stand, instead opening his mouth to call out for the other man gently. “Rantarou?” he asked to thin air, suddenly shocked at the youth in his own voice. He looked down at himself, and sure enough, his hands were thin and nimble once more, only now he felt even more weightless than ever. Ah, so this is it. This is what he was expecting all those years ago when he had laid cold and alone under the press, when he was convinced that Rantarou had been ripped away for good. So here he was, now the one that had gone missing.

It was a lonely existence, in all honesty, but he tried not to mind it. He spent his time looking after the house, which was an exact replica of the home he had practically memorized by this point, in waiting for the day that he would receive some company. He made sure that the garden stood green, that the apple trees- which were much older and readily bearing fruit now- were healthy, and that the wisteria by his window was always secured to the wall.

As he set down his trowel and picked up a watering can, having just planted a bulb that he had taken out last spring, he heard the grass behind him shift under someone’s weight. He dropped the container, some of the water spilling over the metal trim top, and whipped around on his knees. 

Just in front of him, Rantarou was lying peacefully in the grass, just beside the patch of Forget-Me-Nots that they had planted together the day after their wedding ceremony. He smiled warmly, standing up and brushing the dirt from his knees as he shuffled over to where he was sat. He stood over him, looking down at his sleeping face longingly. It was fine, he could sleep. He deserved to wake up peacefully just as Kokichi had.  
After a few minutes, he watched as Rantarou’s eyes fluttered open slowly, his focus wavering momentarily before landing on the man above him. His eyes widened, and as soon as it was offered to him, he grabbed the hand outstretched and sprang up to grab Kokichi into a tight embrace. Kokichi giggled, throwing his arms up and around his husband once more, relieved to finally feel the warmth of his chest again. It didn’t take long for them both to start crying; neither of them minded doing it in front of each other anymore, and in this afterlife, there wasn’t ever going to be anyone else to see it anyhow. 

Kokichi pulled away from him, staring up at his jade green eyes affectionately before standing up on his toes to kiss him softly. They didn’t part for what felt like centuries, and it was incredible. They were home, together, once more.

Rantarou laid a hand on his cheek, pressing his thumb into his skin slightly just to get closer to him than he already was. They were always, always getting closer. “I missed you.”


	6. Oumami // Unapproachable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> •°☆°•
> 
> word count ▪︎ 2174 ▪︎
> 
> my first request! sorry that it took so long and that it's not all that great, a lot got in the way of me writing this so I did it in bits and pieces
> 
> " could you do pregame Oumami and have it in were Kokichi is a really nice person in side but does not show it (not bully type but more like quiet and reserved type) because nobody wants to hang out with him :( but one day Rantaro comes in and befriends kokichi and gives him affection getting Kokichi to open up. "
> 
> content: pre-game, before season 52
> 
> •°☆°•

With a firm grip on the shoulder strap to his bag, Ouma made his way out to the school courtyard as silently as possible. He wasn't exactly a fan of skipping his classes, but if he was confident enough about leaving he figured that he wouldn't be stopped since upperclassmen were allowed to leave for lunch. He was an upperclassmen, after all, but he just had never turned in the form to leave during the day. Not that it particularly mattered, he supposed, there were plenty of kids who used the same excuse, he was just worried considering his inability to lie properly. 

Even with his doubts, he thankfully made it outside without anything more than a glance from security. He let out a breath he was only vaguely aware that he had been holding and kept walking until he was outside of the gates.

Out here, life was… better. Not fantastic or anything, but he still much preferred it. He wasn't particularly smart and he looked the perfect target for anyone begging for a victim, so school was practically just a hell zone. Just about the only thing he had going for him was the fact that as they got older, his class bullies were more keen on harassing the first years than focusing on him. It was a nice break, although he felt like he handled it well enough.

That is, until he felt someone grip his hand. He looked up at the boy, who smiled down at him with relaxed eyes. He stared a moment, registering the gentle touch before breaking out into his own little smile, and moving to hug him. Amami was too much.

Ouma could recall how they met rather clearly- in fact, he thought about it fairly often. More so than maybe was good for him, considering he was usually reduced to tears whenever he did.

•°☆°•

It wasn't some crazy, horrible day where his saviour came to rescue him or anything. Not at all. In fact it was a rather good day. It was weird, and he was vaguely suspicious of it since he never had good days. Okay days, sometimes, but good was a whole new territory. Ever since starting the more serious levels of schooling, his life- along with his mood- seemed to plummet from his happier childhood days. He figured it was just a normal thing that everyone experienced, but began to doubt himself as he watched a few of his friends grow distant. He slowly found out that they would make plans without him, they would seemingly avoid him in the halls and in the dining hall on purpose, they would even lie to his face with horrible excuses that even he could see through. It was upsetting, but he was happy to have a couple others to turn to about it. At least until they too began to fall into the same pattern, drifting away from him as he failed to hold on tight.

So, walking outside after the end of cleaning period with no one by his side was normal for him. Not something he was fully content with, but normal. He didn't get very far before he tripped, his foot having caught on a bench leg while he was lost in his continued confusion over his day. He gasped out a noise of surprise before hitting the pavement with his hands stuck out in front of himself. The gritty texture scratched into his frail skin, and he winced at the sharp pain that accompanied the dull aching in his knees from where they bumped the concrete.

He sighed, sitting up and ignoring how a few of his peers stared at him sitting on the ground with his bag sitting limply a foot or so away from him. Ouma glanced down at his hands. He had only scratched one of his palms, thankfully; sensitive palms were incredibly annoying when it came to everyday tasks. He had cut up his knuckles on the other hand, though, but he didn't mind as much. He'd just have to wash his hands off when he got home. But the shops came first, even with the slight beading of blood over the cuts. They would dry.

He took the usual route home, save for the stop that he got off of on the train. He stood in place as the monitor at the head of the car dinged to life with the upcoming stop, being the one by his house. He stayed put however, fingers sliding down the pole to grip it more comfortably as he watched people entre slowly. Once the car jostled slightly as it started back up, Ouma let his eyes drift down to watch the occasional swaying of peoples' balance to distract himself for the few last minutes of the ride.

He let go of the bar as the train came to yet another stop, this time exiting along with a few others. The city was both much nicer than his neighbourhood and much worse. He never could really tell which area he was better suited to. He made quick work of walking down the street to the nearest produce shop, simply picking up a few fruits before moving on to the convenience store. The little money that he stole from his roommate wasn't enough to get all healthy food, nor a lot in general. He really needed a job, but who was gonna hire someone who looked as tired and unnapproachable as him?

The bell of the store's door chimed with a cheerful tone as he stepped inside, and as if on autopilot he moved towards the cheapest section of aisles. Not many people trusted the quality of the items listed under 500 yen, so it was easy pickings for those who didn't particularly care, much like himself. There was just one other person in the area, so he stuck to the other side of the aisles until they moved. He grabbed up a box of bandages on his way, never paying attention to the brand as per usual. It didn't matter just so long as it covered the bruises adorning his skin.

Tossing the box carelessly into his basket, he moved on towards the foodstuffs, where the other from a few minutes prior no longer stood. He simply took a few precooked meals and set them in over top of the bandages, and turned around to pay. He made a mental note that he was going to have to try and save up a little more of his stolen money before he came the next time, considering the sad amount he was able to get for the next few weeks. 

Setting his goods down on the counter to be scanned, he kept his eyes trained down on the scanning machine through the whole transaction, at least until the cashier spoke up. 

"That all?" he asked, albeit not in a very welcoming voice.

Ouma looked up and nodded, finding his gaze lingering on the boy- who seemed around his age- for a little longer than he would have liked. He was slightly tanned, a calm look to his eyes despite the way he fidgeted with clear boredom. His hair was dyed, cleanly cut and styled, and a few piercings lined his ears; surely he didn't need such a low end job when he appeared to be a bit well off? He frowned and moved to dig into his bag for the crumpled up bills.

As he handed off the rest of what he had to the other teen, he watched the dull expression on his face morph into… something of interest, but he couldn’t place it. Not at least until he huffed out a chuckle that never quite made it past his throat. 

“Danganronpa fan?”

“I’m… sorry, what?” Ouma croaked out, cursing his misused voice for sounding so weak. He wasn’t all that frail, so at this point it was just pathetic.

“I asked if you were a Danganronpa fan. What are you, deaf?” he repeated, the humour that he tried to convey just falling flat. “You have a Monokuma pin on your bag.”

Ouma eyes fell back to settle for looking at the way his hands moved as he worked. “Yeah.”

The two fell back into a spell of silence, the only thing breaking it up being the tapping of the boy’s fingers against the countertop while the cash register processed things rather slowly. As it finally stopped loading, the cashier glanced at it with a frown, grumbling under his breath before digging down into his pocket for something. He retrieved his wallet, from which he pulled one more bill and stuck into the register until it was satisfied. Ouma blinked, debating on asking what that was about before he spoke up again.

“You aren’t too talkative, huh? That’s annoying,” he complained slowly, tapping one last thing into the cash register before leaning on his forearms. No one else was in the store now, it seemed, so the transaction didn’t necessarily have to be quick.

Ouma looked down again. He hated interactions like these, especially since his eyes just kept trailing up and down and up and back down. It was too repetitive for his liking. “I answered your question already, I don’t have anything else to say,” he croaked, closing off his body language.

He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Well, that’s a shame. I was actually trying.”

“Trying?” Ouma echoed dumbly.

“You don’t seem like you have friends,” he deadpanned.

“...” Ouma’s mouth sat agape momentarily before he shut it with a click of his teeth.  
The other boy chuckled dryly. “Right on the money, hm? Hah, I knew it.” With the way the corners of his lips curled with some sort of delight at being proven right, Ouma figured this couldn’t end well. Maybe he would have to change what store he frequented if the cashier at this one started to taunt him in the same way that-

“Then I guess you can hang out with me.”

“Wh..a-”

“Shut up. After my shift ends, I’ll text you. Give me your number.”

Giving a good, thorough look to his face, Ouma finally reached down into his pocket to grab his phone. He couldn’t help the small smile that graced his face, no matter how blunt the other was. He ducked his head down to quickly type his passcode in, and then fumbled with his screen for a few seconds until he pulled up his contacts. He wasn’t quite dumb enough to just hand off his phone to a stranger, so he looked up expectantly before having it snatched out of his hold. He thought just for a moment that maybe he was a bit stupid for letting his guard down, but the cashier simply glided his thumbs across the keyboard with swift precision and then held it back out for him to take. 

“Don’t ask why. I just need more friends who like DR.”

Ouma tentatively lifted his hand to grab the phone back, and nodded shallowly before also trailing his fingers along the handles of the bag that held his items. He loosely hooked it around his hand, and then took a step away from the counter. Tightening his grip on his phone, Ouma bowed his head slightly. “I should get going then,” he began, his heel ghost over the mat on the floor just ahead of the door before glancing down at his phone screen. “I’ll see you, uh...-” he read the contact information “-Amami-san.”

Amami simply turned his eyes back to the monitor that surveyed the store, lifting his hand as a goodbye. Ouma clicked his phone off, and was promptly hit in the face by someone entering the store, ignoring their displeased rambling about him just standing there as he stumbled his way out.

•°☆°•

The fingers that carded through his hair somewhat recklessly pulled him back to the then and now, where he stood in the courtyard with his best friend. He pressed the flat of his hand against Amami’s sternum, pushing him back enough so that he could look up at him. “We should go,” he reminded himself, although Amami took it as direction for him as well and nodded.

“I gotta’ tell you about my audition when we get to my place,” he mumbled in a dull tone, even if Ouma could see the excitement in his barely-there, lopsided grin. “And maybe this time I’ll work with you on yours.” 

He laughed easily, slipping his hand back down into Amami’s as they walked off campus together. “And maybe,” he parroted quietly, “this time you’ll also kiss me instead of chickening out.” 

Amami glanced down at him, his blank face making Ouma falter on his spur of confidence.

“Ah- wait, if you didn’t actually mean it, then I-...” He trailed off as a hesitant kiss was pressed to his forehead. “Oh.”

“Shut up,” Amami said, once again, although the smile on his face- almost timid in nature, even- ruined his facade.


End file.
